


A Troubling Buildup of Tension

by LadyDorian



Category: 60 Parsecs!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Just a Bunch of Astronauts Fuckin, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Humor, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 08:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/pseuds/LadyDorian
Summary: Captain, my sensors are detecting a troubling buildup of sexual tension amongst the crew...





	A Troubling Buildup of Tension

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE!
> 
> I wrote this on a whim for fun (and while listening to [this song](https://youtu.be/XRAc13kG_5A) the entire time). I will not apologize for how filthy it is (in fact, I think it could have been a lot filthier). Please consume at your own risk.

_Captain, my sensors are detecting a troubling buildup of sexual tension amongst the crew. While I do not fully comprehend the nuances of human relationships, I have studied up on the societal effects of repressed biological urges, and the outcome is looking rather grim: Mutiny, war, treason—all because some humans were unable to "get their rocks off."_

_What about you, Captain? Have you been tending to your needs? Might I suggest the alcove where the storage lockers are housed? The curtain of broken wires hanging by the entrance should provide adequate cover. So, Captain? Will you take a crewmate along with you?_

 

Tom taps a finger on his knee and eyes the two empty chairs beside him, with their well-worn butt impressions and their circlets of sand, drawings both innocent and crude scribbled in the detritus like a map leading to an unknown destination. The shuttle had not come equipped with an analog clock, but even without its help, he can hear the seconds tick-tick away, counting down the limits of his boredom. "Hey, where'd you think Emmet and Captain Bronco went?"

On the opposite side of the command console, April sits with one leg folded beneath her, methodically scraping the shafts of two screwdrivers together as if trying to whittle a smaller tool from the larger. "Who knows? They're probably off fucking somewhere."

Her delivery is as dull as tomato soup, as flat as a passage from the _Cosmos 101_ handbook, and Tom can't help but almost choke on his laughter. "I think you meant to say they're _fucking around_. Like, with equipment or something."

"They're fucking around with equipment," she drones on. "The equipment being their dicks. Did I say it right that time?"

"Oh. Oh…" He chuckles again, a bit more embarrassed. "Well, um...then..."

"What?" April mocks. "You get turned on by that or something?"

"N-No, I just hadn't pictured—" He had, actually. More than a few times. To his credit it was hard not to, considering how they were packed into the shuttle head-to-toe like sardines in a tin can. Not to mention that every time he turned around it seemed Emmet was making eyes at the Captain, peeling away the burly man's childlike bashfulness layer by layer. From that point came the daydreams, and then the fantasies, not-so-idle thoughts of who would be the one to top, or how they could even manage to do it without Cap breaking Emmet in half like an uncooked noodle.

Sweating a little, he fiddles with the "medal" on his suit as he tries not to imagine any more pasta-based sex positions. "They just seem, you know, _different."_

April stops her scraping and shoots Tom an irritated look. "We've been stranded on this planet for, what, a month now? You telling me you're not feeling just a little pent-up?"

"I mean, sure, but—"

"You know how many times I stared at that cow idol and saw a big, golden pair of breasts staring back at me?" She stabs the air with one of her screwdrivers. "Eighteen."

 _That's...quite a lot._ Though Tom couldn't lie—for once—that he'd also found himself eyeing up the sock puppet on occasion, its vapid expression reminding him of a girl he'd dated back in high school. Maybe April has a point; maybe compatibility deserves to be thrown out the window in this sort of situation. That being said... "Hey, do you, uh—do you want to maybe—"

"I'd rather wax my taint with that roll of duct tape on the shelf."

 _Ouch._ Tom wonders if the medkit might contain a bandage large enough to cover both April's sore taint and his bruised ego. "I mean, sure, I'm no spring chicken—"

April laughs.

"—but I've been around long enough to know how to please a lady." He arches his eyebrows, slicks his overgrown, greasy hair back to reel her in.

But April isn't biting. "I like chicks, Thomson. Like the cute blonde who got vaporized along with the station because we had to make room for your lying, soup-guzzling ass."

Tom grimaces, the small amount of excitement he'd worked into his loins rapidly fading. "Well...you can pretend, right? Just kind of close your eyes?"

She glares at him and goes back to her "whittling" without further comment or threat of enucleation. _Sure, no problem._ He'll count that as a win. Even if his dick ends up the loser.

How unfortunate then, that the harsh screech of metal lovemaking would keep steering his mind back to the empty chairs, curiosity burrowing an itch into the nape of his neck. _Fuck it._  "I'm gonna go find them."  
  
"What are you, Major Cockblock now?" _Scrape-scrape-scrape._ "Just leave them alone. You go out there, you might regret what you see."

"Well it's better than dying of boredom while we wait for the prisoner ship to contact us again," Tom huffs. "Hell, I'd even settle for a good tousle with some space pirates."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," April cautions him, but Tom is already out of his seat and striding off towards the rear of the ship.

 _Now,_ he asks himself, _if I wanted to bust a nut, where would I go?_ He starts with a peek through the airlock window _(Do people still fuck in toilets?),_ then peers down into the engine room _(A dick? Near that many moving parts?),_ and is just about to pull back the curtain of wires by the storage entrance when he hears a soft moan emanate from within. He stiffens, one hand wrapped around a thick tube.

 _That's Emmet's voice._ He's inside with the Captain, doing god knows what. Definitely not opening storage lockers, if his mewling cries have anything to say about it. Granted, the locks on those things were airtight, and they jammed more often than the zipper on the expedition suit whenever he tried to squeeze his gut into it, but with the Captain's mighty strength they should have been done in five minutes, not—he struggles to do the math in his head— _whatever._

A sharp gasp pierces the air, followed by the Captain's low rumble.

Right, he's going to get to the bottom of this. But how? Should he call out to them? Throw the curtain back in a dramatic flourish? Crack a joke about not sharing with the rest of the crew?

 _Wait a second._ What if April had been wrong? What if it's not just a simple roll in the hay, for lack of a better phrase? What if both Emmet and Captain Bronco are Commies on an undercover mission to take control of the ship? If that were the case, wouldn't it be best to get the drop on them in secret, so he and April could plot their attack when the traitors are least expecting it?

He chuckles quietly to himself. Yes, that's exactly how he'll do it. The plan is so perfect he's already practicing his victory speech as he takes cover behind a bulkhead and carefully peels one of the wires back just far enough to get a glimpse inside the room.

His eyepatch nearly flies off in shock.

There, less than twenty feet away, Chief Science Officer Emmet Ellis is slumped against the side row of lockers, every inch of his dark skin—from the nubs of his toes to the perfect curve of his neck—glimmering with a gorgeous film of perspiration. And on his knees before him, with his massive hands engulfing Emmet's waist, Captain Bronco groans around a mouthful of cock, his back muscles rippling along with each bob of his head.

 _Holy shit, they_ are _fucking._ And not just that, they're enjoying the piss out of it, the Captain gobbling Emmet's dick like he'd skipped rations, Emmet gazing down to watch while his glasses threaten to slip off his nose from all the sweat. Neither of them knowing—or perhaps caring—that they're not alone.

Tom swallows roughly, feels fresh heat coursing through his belly.

Well, what should he do? Should he stop them? Should he walk away? Should he _watch_ —risking an endless stream of "Peeping Tom" puns from April?

As if meaning to voice the decision for him, Emmet moans louder, unable to contain his pleasure despite how hard he seems to be biting his lip. Carding his fingers through the Captain's unruly curls, he arcs his hips, gently rocking in and out. "Fuck, you're so good at that."

Inch by inch, the Captain pulls back, until the gleaming head of Emmet's cock pops free. "Yeah? You like the beard?" He asks, nuzzling the underside of his shaft. "Feels good, don't it?"

 _"Mmm..._ it feels _great,"_ Emmet purrs. "I love the thought of going back to my seat with beard-burn between my thighs. Eating soup with the rest of the crew, neither of them knowing how hard you made me come."

"An' I'm gonna do it again," the Captain replies, with a squeeze to Emmet's balls. "Few things I can think of ‘round here that taste better'n soup."

OK, maybe Tom could watch for a bit longer. For...research purposes. Yeah, sure that works. If he needs a better excuse, he can always figure it out later. Because the Captain is moving to take Emmet into his mouth again, and he doesn't want to miss the money sh—all the _research_ he's going to glean from this. And, hey, in the unlikely event that April were to hand him a pop quiz, he can just claim the experience had taught him valuable life lessons, like how big Emmet is, or how the Captain had been gifted with a bottomless throat, the way he's able to swallow such a large cock practically to the base without so much as a gag. It almost makes him think...

Had they done this before? All those times when he was sleeping, or out on an expedition—were the two of them boning like horny teens? Right under his nose? Without him?

That last thought is another learning experience, evidence present in the ache in his groin, the bulge he feels when he slips his hand into his jumpsuit to give it a light pat. And then a rub. And then he just digs his fingers under the elastic of his boxers and begins to stroke himself, the palm of his glove growing slick with precome as he continues to bask in the nude bodies writhing before him.

Their standard-issue suits do absolutely nothing for the Captain's rock-solid ass. His cock isn't half bad either, thick and rosy with a dense crown of ginger fur that leads from below his navel all the way down to his balls. He wonders, with a pinch of envy, how often Emmet has run his fingers through that bush, tickled the Captain's shaft with his tongue, or simply held him in his mouth, enjoying the feel, the taste of him, despite their irregular washing habits.

Licking his lips, he hears Emmet moan again and speeds his strokes, intending to come alongside him.

But Emmet appears to have other plans. "Ah—wait—" He gasps, giving a tug to Captain Bronco's hair. "Not yet. I want your cock."

 _Shit_ , Tom is glad he stayed for this.

The Captain lets Emmet slip from his mouth and looks up, pink lips glistening against his tip. "Tell me how you want it an' I'll give it to ya."

Emmet smirks. "How about another lesson on the Big Bang?"

 _Are you kidding me with that lame joke?_ Tom thinks bitterly, but Captain Bronco only laughs.

"Yeah, teach me again. I don't think I got it all last time."

"Lie down on the floor, then. I have a gift for you."

Obeying Emmet's command, the Captain lies back with his feet firmly planted and his elbows propped beneath him, watching with a hungry gaze as Emmet retrieves a small test tube from his discarded jumpsuit.

"I might have ‘borrowed' some chemicals to make this," Emmet says as he straddles the Captain's thighs. "But I think you'll agree it's a small price to pay." Popping the cork, he drizzles some over his fingers and then reaches back.

_Oh fuck...he's going to—_

With a long, suspiciously loud moan, Emmet slips two slender fingers between his cheeks at once and pumps them enticingly, making Tom wish he had a better view of his rim, eager to see what has him looking so blissed-out.

Eyes glued to Emmet, the Captain hums low in his throat. "You gonna let me do that next time?"

Emmet chuckles, "Only if you promise to tongue-fuck me first."

By now Tom's ears are about ready to explode, not counting other parts of him. Clamping his hand tightly to keep from coming too soon, he lifts his patch with the other so both eyes can take in the full, delicious sight of Emmet slicking up their Captain's cock. Then, he sinks his hips down, and Tom can almost feel his moan vibrate throughout the storage room.

 _"Fuck…"_  Digging his nails into the Captain's broad shoulder, Emmet begins to grind atop him while he tugs his shaft with his slick hand. "You always feel so good."

"An' you're always so tight. You tryin' to choke my dick?"

 _"Mmm_...if you want me to choke on your dick all you have to do is ask."

Tom whimpers quietly.

"Hey," says the Captain, "wanna try somethin' different?" He doesn't wait for Emmet to reply before rolling the two over and carefully climbing to his feet. Emmet, sharp as he is, picks up on the plan instantly, wrapping his legs around the Captain's waist so the Captain can hoist him into the air and pin him against the lockers. "How's this?" Captain Bronco asks.

"I like it," giggles Emmet. "You know it turns me on when you act all big and strong."

 _How—What—Did his dick even slip out? Have they been practicing?_ His cock throbbing in urgency, Tom gives in to stroking himself again, too desperate to hold back.

Meanwhile, the Captain has begun rocking his hips, his face pressed to the side of Emmet's neck, smothering it in kisses. He whispers his name, "Emmet, Emmet…"

"Harder," Emmet demands, and is rewarded when Captain Bronco starts to pound into him—voice breaking, muscular thighs clenching with power.

_"Oh, Emmet—fuck—"_

The lockers rattle in filthy agreement, A.S.T.R.O.'s favorite one trapped behind them, now covered in sweat and unbridled testosterone. Gasping, Tom jerks his wrist faster, tries to keep his eyes open while the two grasp at each other's flesh and Emmet cries out:

"Don't stop _—_ Cap _—Baby—_ I'm so close _—_ " His cock is slippery wet, sliding between the Captain's thick fingers with ease _—_ one more thing for Tom to envy as he watches Emmet throw his head back and spurt his release all over their chests. Drained of his energy, he lets his arms go limp around the Captain's neck, one final gasp of _"Baby"_ escaping his lips before Captain Bronco groans into his throat and gradually slows down his movements.

Panting, drenched to the bone, the Captain turns his head and looks into Emmet's eyes. "I love you, Emmet."

And at that very inopportune moment, Tom grits his teeth and finally comes.

When he opens his eyes again, and the scene gradually congeals into focus, he sees Emmet and Captain Bronco still pressed up against the lockers, kissing and caressing each other tenderly. Intrigued (and too exhausted to move), he watches for another minute, until Emmet draws back and says with a smile, "My legs are getting kind of tired."

 _And that,_ Tom thinks, _would be my cue to leave._

Wiping his soiled glove on his thigh, he scurries back to the main cabin as stealthily as possible, though he's so flustered he forgets to fix his eyepatch until he's well in his seat. Fortunately, April is too occupied with making freeform screwdriver jazz to look up. "So…" she says, "find what you were looking for?"

"Oh, y-yeah, it was just _—_ " He does his best to keep his lips and his brain in sync, but the latter keeps sprinting back to the storage room like an olympic athlete. "They were just...talking, you know."

"Uh-huh. So why do you smell like you've spent the day in a sauna?" She lifts her gaze, immediately wrinkling her nose in disgust. "And do I even wanna ask whose comestain that is on your suit?"

 _Fuck._ "It's _—_ icing. From a cake I just made. Didn't I tell you? I used to be a professional baker back when I was in the army."

"Oh yeah? Can I have a piece?"

He shrugs. "Sorry. Ate it all."

April narrows her eyes. "Perv."

Just then, a deep voice bellows from the rear of the ship, "Sorry that took so long."

Tom's jaw falls slack.

Less than five minutes after he'd watched the two practically hammer each other into oblivion, Captain Bronco strolls into the cabin with Emmet in tow, neither of them looking half a mess as they should be. "Emmet was helpin' me with some smart stuff," the Captain explains.

 _What the fuck?_ Where's the sweat and the musk and the awkward limping? How are they just walking around with warm come in their suits? Were there actual towels in those lockers? Or did the Captain clean them up with his tongue?

Tom thanks the stars he's too old to become aroused again so soon.

"Yeah, It was nothing too serious," Emmet chimes in as he takes his seat, his glasses not the least bit smudged, despite the fact that they'd nearly fallen off his face a dozen times. "The Captain asked me to reroute some power from the main generator to our backup battery, in case another sandstorm blows in." He squirms a little, and all Tom can think about are his beard-burned thighs rubbing against the material of his suit. He hopes it hurts. Lucky bastard.

"Y-Yeah," Captain Bronco adds, "what Emmet said. You know I'm real bad at that kinda stuff."

"Well, if we ever need to get another locker unstuck then we'll know _—_ " Emmet freezes when he notices Tom staring. "Umm...is everything OK, Tom? Did something happen while we were gone?"

"N-No _—No!_ Nothing happened. Why would anything have happened?" He lets out a nervous laugh and quickly crosses his legs to hide the stain. "Peace and quiet, no dicks _—_ I mean _—_ no boners _—_ no _bones_ about it."

A tiny knot bunches at the center of the Captain's brow. "Are ya sure you're OK, Tom? Do ya need a minute alone with the sock?"

Tom's cheeks burn red-hot. "I swear I never touched it _—_ I _—_ " In a panic, he searches around the cabin for a distraction. "Soup! How about some soup, everyone! I can think of few things around here that taste better than soup _—_ "

No sooner has he said it than both Emmet and Captain Bronco gawk at him, their eyes bulging in horror.

"I _—_ I mean _—_ at least that's what I've heard." Realizing that he's lost, Tom bows his head and fidgets with his tin-can medal, asking, with a quiet pout, "Can I go on an expedition now?"

Across from him, April sniggers under her breath and resumes whittling.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on [tumblr.](http://ladydorian.tumblr.com)


End file.
